Best Warrior
by heiress
Summary: Everyone knows that Alanna's secret was revealed by an unlucky swordstroke in Duke Roger's trial by combat. But what if the same thing had happened at a different time, and by someone else?
1. I Didn't Say That I Hated Anybody

Best Warrior  
  
Author: Heiress Rating: PG Pairings: Not yet decided Summary: Everyone knows how Alanna's secret was revealed through that one stroke in the duel with Duke Roger. Well what if that stroke had been completed in another battle, at another time? Disclaimer: This all belongs to Tamora Pierce. I own nothing at this plot though I do have rights on the plot later on.  
  
Suggestions for further plot developments are welcome and much appreciated. Flames will be doused with my muses tears.  
  
A short, red-headed teenager walked across one of the inner courtyards of the palace, his attention only on the path in front of his feet. At a sudden burst of giggles from the right-hand side of the square, his head snaped up and violet eyes widened in alarm. The youth turned to go back the way he came but before he could go more than a few steps a ringing voice called him to attention.  
  
"Oh, Squire Alan!" the voice chimed, "Might you come here for a few moments, that is, if you are not already on an errand of greater importance?"  
  
The boy Alan gave a barely audible sigh of annoyance before squaring his shoulders and approaching the speaker.  
  
"How could any task be of more importance than one you request of me Lady Delia?" He had to fight to keep the sarcasm out of his tone as he voiced the normal court flattery. The gratified giggles he heard as he bowed told him that for once he had succeeded.  
  
He knew that for the most part these girls were using him as a pawn in court politics. They seemed to feel that being waited on by the prince's squire showed an elevation in their status. It rarely occurred to them that he was required to help any noble in the palace provided that it did not interfere upon his actual duties to his knight-master. As for those women who already knew that fact, it amused them to see him, the women- hating squire, forced to dance attendance upon the court beauties.  
  
"Squire Alan, I really would hate to impose, but." "It is no trouble at all my lady," he answered her absently, impatiently waiting for her to get to the point, Lady Delia of Eldorne never did anything for an obvious reason, but there was always a reason.  
  
"Well, I was wondering if you might get my gloves for me, I do believe that I left them in your master's chambers."  
  
Alan's blood ran cold, than rushed to his face. So that's what her game is, rub it in everyone's faces that she is sleeping with the heir to the throne. Well, I'll see what I can do about that!  
  
"I'm sorry milady but when I cleaned his highnesses rooms this morning, I didn't see any gloves," he watched her smile become slightly fixed. "I could check again if you like," he added helpfully.  
  
"See that you do." She said, her tone colder that it had been a moment before. She turned away from him, a sign that he had been dismissed.  
  
"I will Lady Delia," he pledged. And if I do find them, they may mysteriously find their way into the kitchen midden!  
  
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~  
  
"I do believe that I could hate that woman!" Alan muttered as he banged his way into Jon's apartments.  
  
"Hate what woman?" queried Jonathon as he entered from the further room, wiping his hands on the towel he carried.  
  
"What were you doing in my room?" Alan countered, blithely ignoring the prince's question and hoping the older youth would do the same. No such luck.  
  
"Cleaning up after my slob of a squire." Jon answered quickly, "and who do you hate?"  
  
" I didn't say that I hated anyone," the boy retorted, his eyes not meeting the knight's. " I said that I could, possibly, maybe, one day, in the far distant future, hate someone." Jonathon stared at him. "A lot of energy is devoted to hating someone and it would be foolish to enter hate lightly, just for something petty. The prince hadn't moved a muscle. "I am known as quite a woman-hater you know." One slow blink and then,  
  
"Alanna." The red-head blanched, eyes darting quickly to the wide open door before rushing over to slam it shut and slide the dead-bolt home. The younger teen spun around furiously before crossing the room in a few quick steps to glare fiercely into the sapphire blue eyes of the prince.  
  
"What in the name of the Dark God's realm were you thinking!" the squire whispered hoarsely, young voice full of rage. "Or were you even bothering to think at all? Of all of the maggot brained idiots in the Eastern Lands! For the Goddess's sake Jon, anyone could have heard you!"  
  
"I-I'm sorry Alanna," said the prince, having the grace to look abashed. "I hadn't thought of that."  
  
Of course you didn't!" yelled Alanna before lowering her voice again. "You aren't the one who get thrown out or even killed if someone finds out! You're the Crown Prince, so why should you have to worry about the lesser troubles of your insignificant subjects!" with that final shrieked accusation, the red-haired whirl-wind ran into the next room and slammed the door behind her. A second too late Jon ran to force the door and the issue but was only in time to hear the lock click into place.  
  
~All right, complaints, congratulations, advice, and suggestions are all welcome. I have part of the next chapter done but suggestions on where this story should go would be welcome.  
  
~Heiress 


	2. A makeshift prison

Title: Best Warrior

Author: Heiress

Rating: PG

**Pairings: Not yet decided**

**Summary: Everyone knows how Alanna's secret was revealed through that one stroke in the duel with Duke Roger.  Well what if that stroke had been completed in another battle, at another time?**

**Disclaimer:  This all belongs to Tamora Pierce.  I own nothing at this plot though I do have rights on the plot later on.  **

**Suggestions for further plot developments are welcome and much appreciated.  Flames will be doused with my muse's tears.**

Chapter the Second 

:: the red-haired whirl-wind ran into the next room and slammed the door behind her.  A second too late Jon ran to force the door and the issue but was only in time to hear the lock click into place.  ::

**            Alanna stood just beyond her door, trembling with a draining combination of fury and fear.  She could almost feel Jon on the other side of the door, trying to decide what to do after his squire's sudden outburst.  After a moment, she heard the faint shuffling sounds of him walking away from her door and then a low, groaning, creak as he sat at the chair in front of his desk.**

**            Alanna pulled back from the door with a relieved sigh, she had been afraid that Jon would continue to push the issue, but it seemed that their unspoken taboo for entering each other's rooms after dusk had held.  She crossed the room on shaky legs to collapse onto her bed.  **

**Faithful leapt onto the bed after her and draped himself across her stomach.  _: That was stupid:_  Alanna, exhausted as the adrenaline drained out of her body, merely grunted.  _: How articulate:_**

****

**With a groan, the girl propped herself up on her elbows and glared at the cat lying on her abdomen.  "What was stupid?"**

**            Faithful rolled over onto his back so that his violet eyes looked into Alanna's own.  _: Although that "rant and retreat" ploy may have distracted Jonathon long enough for him to forget about questioning you, it also effectively trapped us in here:_**

**            Alanna sat up the rest of the way, knocking a disgruntled Faithful to the side of the bed in the process and ignoring the ensuing yowl.  "Damn!" she muttered.  The cat was right.  **

**            There were only two doors leading from Alanna's room, the right hand one led into Jonathon's room, and the other, far more used door led into the study that their rooms adjoined to.  Due to the "Y" shape of the prince's suite, the only way out of the apartment was through the study, in which Jon was oh-so-conveniently sitting in.**

**            "Damn." She repeated, more vehemently.**

**            _: You said that already:_**

****

**"You shut up."  Alanna flopped back down onto the bed, admiring the situation that she had gotten herself into.  On the bright side, she wouldn't be stuck in here permanently.  Being the Heir, Jonathon usually had court functions to attend to.  Unfortunately, it was only half-past six and the parties didn't generally start until nine or ten.**

**            If she hadn't lost her temper, she wouldn't have had this problem.  As it was, if she tried to leave while Jon was still here, he would probably stop her to try and figure out why she reacted so strongly.  Jon was good about things like that, sorting out differences and patching up arguments, it would probably make him a good king.  In the meantime, it often made him an incredibly annoying friend.  **

**Storming out doesn't work that well when someone follows you, asking if you've been feeling stressed lately, or if you feel that people expect too much of you.  At least this time she hadn't pissed him off enough that he used Royal Authority to get her back out.**

**There was a soft sound in the next room and Alanna instantly froze, the sliding of cloth on wood, a shifting of weight on old floorboards.  She listened to him walk across the study and mentally tallied up the time that she had been locked in here.  Counting the tense moments waiting for him to leave her door, and the lethargic period that followed, Alanna was surprised to find that it had been two hours.  Jon must be getting ready for the banquet tonight, luckily, pages were the ones who served at banquets, not squires, so Alanna would not have to face her knight-master for the rest of the evening.**

**The door to Jonathon's room clicked shut.  "Do you think that it's safe to leave?" Alanna asked the cat.**

**Faithful briefly stopped batting at invisible dust motes and rolled over onto his stomach to look thoughtfully at his mistress.  _: I doubt that he would see you but light as you are, the floorboards will still creak.  And, unless he is indecent when he hears you, he will follow after.  You should wait until he has left.:_**

**"You're right, Damn it."**

**_: You really should find something new to say:_**

**            "Shut up."**

**            _: You said that already too:  _the cat gave her a superior smirk and rolled over to scratch his back against the bedspread.  **

**            The girl glared at the gloating cat but changed the subject.  "I know that it's better to be cautious and bored that caught but I am sick of waiting, and if we are going to be waiting until Jon is ready than I am going to be dead of boredom and old age before we get out of here!  I thought that it was the court ladies who were supposed to take forever getting ready, not the men."**

**            _: As prince, most of the eyes of the court will be focused on him, waiting to see a weakness that they can exploit.  If he looks sloppy, they can say that he does not have enough respect for himself, the court, or the country.  If he looks too nice, they can say that he's a dandy and a fool. _**

****

**_ He has to strike the perfect balance between the two.  Strong, but not oafish; dressed well, but not flamboyant; neat, but not prissy; polite, but not false.  He has the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders, and all are gathered to make him trip and fall:_**

**            Alanna stood frozen, Faithful rarely said so much, so seriously.  She never really thought about politics and court intrigue.  After all, she was training to be a knight, not a diplomat.  But Jon had to do both, all of the time, with people always watching.  She didn't know if she would be able to handle something like that.  _Maybe I should-_**

****

**A small black head bumped against her ankle.  _: Listen: _Faithful hissed.  Alanna cocked her head.**

**            "I don't here any-"**

**            :_ Shush! :_**

**            The girl stopped talking and focused all of her attention beyond her door and into the next room.  She was about to tell Faithful that he was imagining things when she heard it.  A faint scuff of leather against wood, the subtle creak of a floorboard.  Jonathon was ready early.  **

**She froze, waiting for the moment when Jon would knock on the door and try to discuss their differences and reconcile after their argument. Alanna prepared to blithely ignore her prince, and realized that no such knock was forthcoming.  She listened again.  The noises were still there and they were leading away from her room.  **

**            _He's sneaking out_ she realized.  _He's figur4ed out that pushing the matter isn't going to change my mind so he's going to leave me alone!"_  Even as this thought occurred to her she heard the hinges sigh a the outer door was opened and then the abrupt _snick_ as it was shot.  **

**            Alanna stood frozen for a few seconds longer before cautiously approaching the door.  She resisted the urge to run out through the study to the freedom of the hallway.  Common sense telling her that the Prince, not being in the same hurry she was, could still be in the hallway, or that he might have forgotten something and might suddenly come back to fetch it.  She forced herself to wait five more tortuous minutes in her makeshift prison before reaching for the doorknob.  **

**            The girl glanced back at Faithful to see of the cat was going to come.  He barely even noticed as he stared intently at the door, whiskers angled down and and tail twitching in an expressaion of feline confusion.  **

**            _: Something's not right:  _he muttered.**

**            "Is it dangerous? Do you know what it is?" Alanna said, turning around in her surprise.**

**            _: No and no, but something is not as it should be:_**

****

**            "Well if you can't give me a more definite answer than I am getting the hell out of here!"  She glanced back but the cat had resumed his glaring at the exit.  Alanna shrugged at her pet's sudden absorption and again reached for the doorknob.  **

**            Faithful's sudden warning hiss of_ : Wait! : _reached her just as she threw open the door-**

**            -and nearly ran into the Crown Prince of Tortall, who was lounging against the doorframe and staring right at her.**

**            _: Told you so:_**

**A/N- In In the Hand of the Goddess it suggest that Jon's apartment is two rooms, His and then, through a connecting door, hers.  I took the liberty of changing it so that it was more similar to Raoul and Kel's setup in Squire, except that Alanna's door doesn't open out onto the hallway.**

**Suggestions for further plot developments would be immensely appreciated and spoilers cannot be given because I don't know what will happen either.  **


	3. She said I might be a little, well, diff...

Title: Best Warrior

Author: Heiress

Rating: PG

**Pairings: Not yet decided**

**Summary: Everyone knows how Alanna's secret was revealed through that one stroke in the duel with Duke Roger.  Well what if that stroke had been completed in another battle, at another time?**

**Disclaimer:  This all belongs to Tamora Pierce.  I own nothing at this point except the first bit and embellishments on the plot from ITHOTG though I do have minor claims on the plot later on.  **

**Suggestions for further plot developments are welcome and much appreciated.  Flames will be doused with my muses' tears.**

**Chapter the Third**

**~*~*~**

The full moon that evening glowed brilliant silver, casting its light through all of the windows of both city and palace.  All of the creatures, both animal and human, drew health and strength from the Great Mother's lantern.  All of the creatures, but one.

**            The man walked across one of the palace's wide, open courtyards, within the light of the moonbeams, but refusing them.   He walked quickly between the buildings, but he did not hurry, or scuttle, or look suspicious in any way.  This man looked purposeful, as if he knew exactly where he was going and had absolutely every right to be there.**

**_            ::And that he does:: _One murmured to herself, her comment silent and omnipresent.  _:: but no mortal has the right to do as he does when he gets there.::_  The deity sighed, a sigh of night air and wolves howling at the moon.  _:: But we cannot interfere,::_ There was a pause_:: My chosen shall take care of that.::_**

**            Inexplicably, the man shivered.**

**~*~*~**

**_:           -and nearly ran into the Crown Prince of Tortall, who was lounging against the doorframe and staring right at her._**

****

**_            : Told you so:_**

****

            **Alanna's throat made a strangled noise directed at the furry black blob now licking its paws around her feet. She could not look down to see how Faithful responded because her gaze was locked on Jonathon, and his never wavered from hers.**

**            _It's all right, it's all right,_ the squire chanted mentally, _all I have to do is stall for a little bit and then he'll have to leave or be late to the banquet.  By the Goddess, what can I stall him with?  _"Well, don't you look dashing-"**

**            The prince cut her off, "It's eight-o'-clock you know."**

**            Alanna stared at him, open-mouthed.  "What do you mean?  It can't be.  I've been in there for three and a half hours!"**

**            "No you haven't," the black-haired man said, trying to suppress a smile at the consternation in his squire's violet eyes.  "You locked yourself in your room only an hour and a half ago."**

**            "So you interrupted the compliment that I was intending to give you just so that you could tell me that my internal clock has gone wonky?" she challenged, trying to regain her composure.**

**            "Well, that and the fact that trying to stall me won't work."**

**            Alanna grimaced, knowing that that manner of escape was now closed.  "Gary or Raoul might stop by," she countered, "Or Alex."**

**            With a sigh at the redheaded girl's tenacity, Jonathon ticked the three knights off his fingers as he dismissed their interruption.  "Gary is at a "personal meeting" with Lady Cythera, Raoul will be avoiding this whole wing of the palace for fear that I will see him and make him come to the banquet, and Alex barely has time to talk to any of us anymore, let alone drop by right before a court function."**

**            Alanna opened her mouth to spout off several more, even less likely names, but was again cut off.**

**"Stop stalling for Mithros sake and tell me what's wrong!"**

**Alanna tore her gaze from Jonathon's and focused on the floor, debating what to say.  On the one hand, she could tell the truth.  She could get all of the weight off of her chest, have a good rant, and maybe Jonathon would finally come to his senses.  Of course, Ralon of Malven might come back to court as the newly crowned Emperor of Carthak to declare his everlasting love for Sir Myles.**

**On the other hand, she could lie.  Lie to her best friend, lie to the man who would be king of her country and to whom she would swear fealty to.  And what with the way that this day was going, she wouldn't only feel incredibly guilty, but Jon would figure out that she was lying almost immediately.  _Damn._**

**She glanced up at Jon before shifting her gaze to the right, where a blur of motion caught her eye.  She looked up just in time to see a small shadow dart through the door.**

**_::Abandon me why don't you!::_  she thought at her familiar.  He didn't deign to reply.  _Goddess!_**

**Suddenly she was struck with the perfect idea, one that Jon would never doubt, never even question.  Unfortunately, Alanna wasn't sure if she would survive the accompanying mortification.  Alanna opened her mouth as she looked up to Jonathon but only a hoarse croak came out as her cheeks began to warm.  **

**The prince's hand came into her field of vision and carefully tilted her chin up so that she was looking directly at him.  His gaze was inquisitive, and now, slightly worried.  She wouldn't look at him.  Her eyes flickered over the desk, the fireplace, a stray paper on the floor, her show of embarrassment only a slight exaggeration of the truth.**

**"It's just-" the girl's voice came out small, despite the deep breath she had taken before speaking.  "It's just the moon-days Jon.  She said I might get a little, well, different but I-"**

**At just that moment, what his squire was talking about registered in Jonathon's head.  He jerked his hand away from Alanna's chin as if he had been burned and self-consciously stepped back.**

**"I-I had no idea," he stammered, looking anywhere but at the embarrassed girl in front of him.  "I really didn't mean… well…I'm sorry but- I have to go."  And with that, Jonathon of Conte, Second year knight and Heir to the Throne of Tortall, fled into his room like a toddler from the equinox demons. **

**Alanna shook her head, amusement at her friend's antics dispelling most of her embarrassment.  She sat down at her desk to work on a letter to Thom and wait for her knight-master's bruised dignity to recover.**

**Ten minutes, the letter, and a deportment assignment later, Jonathon emerged from his room, perfectly composed.  After a few seconds of looking at every object in the room but his squire, Jonathon cleared his throat.  Alanna glanced up from her sprawled position on the couch.  "I-I shouldn't have pushed you and I-"**

**"You don't need to apologize Jon." She said, letting her book dangle from one hand.  "You didn't know and I was," here she paused, looking for the right words, "out of sorts."**

**She stood, leaving her book on the floor, to offer her hand to Jon across the barrier of the couch.  "Nothing doing, nothing done, and naught to remember."**

**He accepted her hand without hesitation, reciting, "There is nothing in the doing, there was nothing done and there is naught to be remembered."**

**A moment of silence so intense it rung in their ears followed this proclamation until Jon dropped Alanna's hand.  "I have to get going," he said, heading toward the door even as he spoke. "Delia's waiting for me," were his last words as he stepped out of the door, a dreamy looking smile on his face.**

**Alanna snapped her mouth shut just in time to keep from yelling-something.  She wasn't sure what exactly but she had the idea that it wouldn't have been very polite, and might have landed her in jail for describing the prince's ancestry in such detail, and with so few mentions of kings, queens, or much of anything that wasn't a farm animal.**

Author's Notes:

**            -Hopefully this chapter will be uploaded with all of the appropriate Italics and formatting because I have been informed that the pervious chapter did not.  I will be re-loading that one as well. **

**            -That last bit was some sort of old-fashioned ritual of oathtaking or forgiveness and may or may not become part of the plot, (I'm not telling.)**

**            -Next Chapter:-a sweet-obsessed lord and another encounter with Delia.**

**            -Plot suggestions will be much appreciated.**


	4. Small hands would be so much better for ...

Title: Best Warrior

Author: Heiress

Rating: PG

**Pairings: Not yet decided**

** Story Summary: Everyone knows how Alanna's secret was revealed through that one stroke in the duel with Duke Roger.  Well what if that stroke had been completed in another battle, at another time?**

**Chapter Summary: A new mystery-point-of-view, a candy-obsessed lord, and a conniving and slutty(er) Delia, whatever will our hero(ine) do?**

**Disclaimer:  This all belongs to Tamora Pierce.  I own little of the plot at this point, just embellishing on what was already there, I do however, hold full credit for the different points of view at the beginning.**

**Suggestions for further plot developments are welcome and much appreciated.  Flames will be doused with my muses' tears.**

Chapter the Fourth 

**            My feet marched down the corridor, unheeding of the orders of my mind.  I was never sure which were worse; the times like these, when my body worked on someone else's orders and I was just a helpless spectator, or the times I couldn't remember.  There were blank spots in my memory, great gaping holes of hours, or once, even days.  I'd wake up in a crumbling wing of the old palace, or in some rank alley of the lower city, with knife coats on my clothes and arms and blood dripping from my hands.  I was never sure whether the blood was mine or someone else's and I didn't really want to find out.**

**            My body turned a corner sharply, gaining forward momentum, I willed it to move faster and to my surprise, it did.  I prepared to change directions, to go to the King's chambers, to tell him-**

**            "Slow down, damn it!" exclaimed an authoritative, if out of breath voice.  Its owner appeared around the corner, her face flushed above the low neckline of her green dress.  "I can't be seen running to the banquet like I'm some witless serving girl.**

**            "I could go ahead, " I suggested, trying to sound indiffere4nt to her response.**

**            "Nonsense," she said, her face the image of shock.  "I can't arrive without an escort and that has to be you for the plan to work."**

**            My shoulders slumped beneath the ornate indigo tunic.  I hadn't expected anything different but I had hoped.  I looked up as we rounded the next corner.  Lights were shining every few feet on the walls and two men, in the full uniform of the King's Own guarded the huge double doors at the far end.  A dainty white glove settled itself on my black clad arm while I nodded to the guards and acknowledged their jealous expressions.  I whispered our names to the herald positioned just inside the door.**

**            He turned away to face the elegantly dressed horde and rapped his ornamental staff against the floor. "Announcing..."**

**~*~*~**

**            "No no, it's quite all right, I really don't need it," Alanna stood, half in, half out of a room, gesturing emphatically.  She finally understood why Myles had been so amused when he sent her with the documents on Gallan sheep breeding to Lord Dannedan of Hohenzollern.**

**            "Oh don't be foolish young whippersnapper!" cried out the elderly lord, his volume control as limited as his hearing.  "They're good for you.  With his right hand, he gripped Alanna's arm, with his left he shook a bowl half-filled with sticky orange candies at the captive squire.  The man leaned forward and said, in what was supposed to be a whisper, "They also help with the ladies, or so I've heard."  He waggled his eyebrows at his unwilling audience.**

**            "I'm very sorry sir, but I have been ordered to attend the prince at..." The redhead craned a neck around the man to see the clock on the far wall, "two-o-clock.  I dare not make his highness late."**

**            "No, of course not," agreed Lord Dannedan, looking disappointed.  "But you take these along with you now."  He shoved a handful of the sweets at her and shut the door.**

**            Alanna looked bemusedly at her gooey handful, then shrugged, dumped them in the nearby plant box, and went on her merry way.  She didn't see the color ooze off the candies, staining the soil a disturbingly blood-like hue.**

**            Alanna walked the familiar corridors of the palace, wondering if she had enough time to visit Stefan in the stables before she really did have to help Jonathon.  Deciding that if she hurried she could chat and then meet up with Jonathon as he finished his daily ride, she started to cut across one of the many courtyards.**

**            "Oh! Squire Alan!" trilled a sickeningly sweet soprano, "fancy seeing you here."**

**            :_ Damn it Damn it Damn it Damn it:_ thought Alanna as she pasted a smile on her face and walked over to the courtly beauty. **

**            "A remarkable coincidence my lady." She replied, bowing from several feet away.  "I'm on my way to help the prince prepare for a meeting so I'm afraid that-"**

**            "Oh don't be so silly Alan," she giggled, leaning conspiratorially towards the squire.  "Jonathon isn't going to be done for at least another ten minutes.  "Now," said the older girl, a wicked smile coming to her lips as she looked at the 'boy' in front of her.  "I'm afraid that I have a bit of a problem."  She walked towards Alanna, her hips swinging far more than was strictly necessary.  "You see, I think that my dress has come a bit unlace, right _there._"  She spun around in an enviable swirl of dark red skirts, her hand coming to rest at the right side of the low-cut neckline.**

**            _Really not a suitable dress for the weather_ thought Alanna irrationally as she went bright red with embarrassment.  _Far more suitable for an evening seduction than an afternoon walk._**

**            Thinking furious thoughts at the gods-cursed code of chivalry, Alanna obediently raised her hands to untie the elaborate knot, trying to touch the Eldorne girl as little as humanly possible.  However, the ties were rather fantastically tangled.  Alanna didn't even hear the voices approaching or notice Delia's smile growing.  That is, until an all to familiar voice called out.**

(A/N I seriously considered just leaving it here and seeing if anyone yelled at me, but alas, I'm far too nice to do that.)

**            "Now Alan, didn't we already have a discussion about molesting the young ladies?"  Underneath the veneer of humor in the prince's voice, Alanna could easily hear the jealous anger. **

**            She half-turned, so her head was facing Jonathon and the young knights that stood to his either side.  "Thank Mithros you're here," she said gratefully.  "Lady Delia seems to have gotten her ties knotted."  Alanna turned back to the amused beauty.  "I'm sure that they'll be able to sort your problem out, after all," the squire added, glancing back over her shoulder, "they have more practice with this sort of thing."  The redhead held the ribbons out to her friends.  **

** Jonathon would understand what was going on, but she was afraid that Gary and Raoul would think she was denying being any competition for Delia to their faces and then wooing her (or more) behind their backs.  She gave them both an exasperated smile, receiving a tentative one from each of them in return.  That is, until Delia opened her mouth.**

**"Oh don't be so silly Alan," she purred, loud enough for the knights to hear.  "Their hands are so big and rough, small hands would be _so_ much better for this sort of thing, don't you think?" The three men and Alanna stiffened.**

**"And if you're a bit clumsy, well, that's nothing that a little practice won't cure."  She had drawn closer to the squire as she spoke and now turned a coquettish smile to all of them, blinking innocently. **

**Alanna turned toward her three friends, hands outstretched in entreaty.  Their eyes stared back at her, wide with betrayal, jealousy, and in Jonathon's case, anger.**

**_:I could really learn to hate that woman!:_**

****

****

 Next chapter:  Another Alanna and Jon argument and a talk with Myles 

**Please Review and give suggestions**


	5. I wasn't doing anything!

Title: Best Warrior

Author: Heiress

Rating: PG

**Pairings: Not yet decided**

** Story Summary: Everyone knows how Alanna's secret was revealed through that one stroke in the duel with Duke Roger.  Well what if that stroke had been completed in another battle, at another time?**

**Chapter Summary: Another section from our mystery point-of-view (although you should be figuring it out, the big Alanna and Jonathon fight, and a discussion with Sir Myles.**

**Disclaimer:  This all belongs to Tamora Pierce.  I own little of the plot at this point, just embellishing on what was already there, I do however, hold full credit for the different points of view at the beginning.**

**Suggestions for further plot developments are welcome and much appreciated.  Flames will be doused with my muses' tears.**

**Responses: Thanks to everyone that reviewed, I'm glad that you like.  I am not sure if there will be marshmallow level fluff but I think there will be romance later in this story, I'm going to have to consult with the characters about that.**

**Chapter the Fifth**

**            I had to admit it, the woman knew how to do her job.  She had the three knights wrapped completely around her dainty little fingers and with a flick of her wrist she could have had then all kneeling on the floor, begging for her mercy.  And, eventually, she wood, but it wasn't time for that yet.**

**            Yes, his three old friends were firmly controlled.  However, there was the matter of young Alan of Trebond.  How did that slip of a boy avoid the Duke's spell?  His grace had mentioned that the boy had powerful shields but the spell had been designed to make any unmarried man lust for her unless they had specific wards against this exact spell.  And that just couldn't be.  I had found this enchantment myself in a crumbling book in the archives.**

**            Was Alan a boy-lover?  It would explain his lack of interest in, not only Delia, but also any of the other women who had crossed his path.**

**            "...but nothing that a little practice won't cure." Delia's vo;ice roused me out of my contemplative stupor.**

**            She was practically on top of the poor boy, and I felt a moment's pity for what we were putting Alan through as he glanced at Delia in shock, then at his friends.  Their expressions were what I had expected; jealousy, anger, confusion over a friend's betrayal.  Alan was the very picture of helplessness.  Before, that is, he turned to Delia with an expression of utmost fury.**

**            "You!" he hissed, so quietly that I inched forward from my pillar to hear.  "This is all your doing."  His voice was pitched to low for it to carry to the knights at the far doorway.  The Trebond boy's left hand twitched and for a moment I thought that he might actually strike Delia.  Mithros, I hoped so.  She must have thought the same thing because of the sudden tenseness of her neck as she took a step backwards.  But the boy controlled the impulse, just as his knight-master called him to order.**

**            "Alan!" the prince was openly, rashly, furious.  Gone was the quiet, authoritative anger that befitted a Prince of the Blood.  Jonathon was acting far below his station and didn't care who saw it.**

**            He made a jerk of his head and then turned on his heel, knowing that his squire would follow him.  Delia tried to hold the boy in place by whispering things in his ear, but he shook her off with a disgusted look.  Gary and Raoul stepped out of his way, slightly appeased by his attitude towards the Eldorne girl but not about to interfere with the prince.**

**            Both satisfied and disappointed that Delia had done her job, I snuck out of one of the doorways and headed off in the opposite direction that the prince and his squire had taken.**

**~*~*~**

            Jonathon slammed the door behind him.  "What in the name of Mithros did you think that you were doing!"

**            "I was doing?  I wasn't doing anything!  Except trying to get away!"**

**            "How dare you manipulate Lady Delia like that!" Jonathon roared, hands trembling in rage.**

**            Alanna's jaw dropped.  He thought that _she_ had been manipulating _Delia_?  She could barely keep people from discovering her secret, let alone manipulate people she didn't even like!  She paused for a moment, observing the prince as he ranted.  Something was not right here.  This was _Jonathon_.  Mr. Let's-solve-our-problems-by-talking.  And she was getting the idea that this was probably not the best time to announce that she distrusted and possibly even hated Lady Delia of Eldorne in addition to thinking that the girl was nothing more than a well-bred courtesan.**

**            "...and what would people start saying about her honor if they saw you trying to skulk off with her!"**

**            _:This has gone too far:_  Alanna thought.  "First off Jon, I don't even like her as a person and I was trying to get away from, not skulk off with, her.  Second, _hello_ girl!  I'm not interested in anything male_ or_ female, besides my shield and I'm not much of a threat to her honor in that way.  Third and finally, _what_ honor?  **

**"I do know that the two of you are sleeping together, I sleep just next door, and if that's not enough, she's sleeping with half of the other men at court too!"  She debated mentioning that Gary and Raoul were both members of that half, but decided against it.  She didn't need to ruin their friendships as well."**

**            Jonathon's face went stark white before rapidly changing to an apoplectic red.  "Don't you dare slander her name again Alanna of Trebond!" Jonathon shouted.  "You're only using her so everyone will continue to believe that you're a boy and if you do so again I swear that I will tell everyone!"  The prince glared at her for a few more seconds, his eyes near glowing with rage before turning on his heel and stomping into the hallway.**

**            _:Well, that was interesting.:_ came a purr from under the desk.**

**            "That's one word for it," the girl retorted.  "What in the seven hells is wrong with him?**

**            _:He's infatuated with the girl, not that she's trying to dissuade him.  He's also the Crown Prince, the third most important person in the realm.  You hurt his feelings.:_**

**            "Well, he can get over it, but that isn't what I was talking about.  I didn't even touch Delia except by accident and was plainly trying to get rid of her.  She was obviously trying to jump _me_!  So why am I being yelled at about damaging _her_ honor?  It was almost like she was trying to get us into a fight."**

**            _: That is interesting.  In the meantime, I suggest that you avoid her as much as possible, and for the next few days, Jonathon as well.:_**

**            "Raoul and Gary aren't that mad, just confused.  I can probably talk to them tomorrow."**

**            _:Yes, talk to them before she does, else you might find that you attacked Lady Delia in the brush this afternoon.  Also, you might want to leave now considering Lady Eldorne and a friend are walking towards this hallway as we speak.:_**

**            "After you," she said, waving the cat towards the door.**

**            A few moments later they were walking briskly down the corridors.  Rather, Alanna was walking and Faithful washed his paw and looked on from his position on the girl's left shoulder.**

**            _:Where are we going?:_ the cat asked.**

**            "Sir Mules, he might be able to give me some advice about this whole affair."**

**            _:Good, he gives me cheese, are you going to give him the full or condensed version of events?:_**

**            "A; eat much more cheese and I won't be able to carry you.  B; it full means including the fact that I'm a girl and have been lying to him for the last five years, we are definitely going with the condensed version."**

**            _:I don't think that he would reject you for it.:_**

            "Thinking doesn't count.  Unless I am absolutely one hundred percent sure, he learns nothing."

**            A shadow, ghosting past them unnoticed, paused for a moment, wondering.  _Who shouldn't learn what?  And why was this little boy wandering around talking to himself.  _ He started to go after him.  Suddenly, the black shadow by the boy's left ear turned, a nightmare of flashing violet eyes and sterling teeth bared in a silent hiss.  The man stumbled backwards, hastily drawing the mark of the Gods across his chest.  Maybe that wasn't such a good idea.**

**~*~*~**

            "I'm afraid I can't help you Alan," seaid Sir Myles, slowly shaking his shaggy head.  "This is just something that you and Jonathon will have to work out on your own."

**            "I know, just wishful thinking I suppose.  Do you have any advice about Raoul and Gary?  I haven't been spending much tie with them since _she_ showed up and I don't think that they are anywhere near as mad at me as Jonathon is."**

**            "I think that very few people are as mad at you as Jon is," answered Sir Myles with a hint of a grin.  "But you're probably right.  Just spend some time with them and explain what really happened.**

**            "Yes," Myles continued, absently stroking his beard eyes sharp as hawks focused completely on her.  "You need to explain exactly why you are not a threat to their pursuit of her."  Because he was watching her so intently, he saw her jump, then squirm, with a faintly guilty look on her face.  _There is something there,_ he thought,_ I'm sure of it._**

**            From the floor, Alan's cat glanced up at the man, and then went back to licking his claws.  "You know Alan, if there's anything that you need to tell me."**

**            "I think that I should go back to my rooms about now, Jon'll be gone and he won't bother me if he thinks I'm asleep."  The agitated squire quickly stood up and walked to the door, cat following at his heels.  Opening the door, he turned back.  "Thanks, Myles," and walked out.  Just behind the flame haired youth, the black cat paused, turned toward the aging knight, and slowly winked one brilliant amythest eye before following the young squire out the door.**

**And that is it for today, or this week, or however long it takes me to update.**

**In case no one has noticed by my incredible lack of updates, I have been hitting a major writer's block and would appreciate any suggestions made.  I would even appreciate being told things that are odd so that I can incorporate or change them throughout the story.**

**Next Chapter: Apologizing to Raoul and Gary, a brief run-in with Duke Roger, and thinking about apologizing to Jon.**

**The scene from which this story takes its name is going to take place in chapter eight, maybe nine.**

**Toodles,**

Heiress 


	6. Do We Get Pie?

**Story title and my name are at the top; story summary and disclaimer are on the first five chapters.  These will hold for the rest of the story.  No, the incident in the initial summary still hasn't occurred yet or in the next three chapters.  Everything's in bold because it helps me see.**

**I know what I am doing up until the chapter title, after that, not a clue.  Therefore any and all suggestions are appreciated because they may be turned into later plot twists.  I will send you hugs and kisses with all of the telepathic force I have.  Please contribute. (Not quite begging but close.)**

Chapter Summary: Alanna tries to make peace with her friends and a meeting with the Duke.

Chapter the Sixth

            Alanna woke bright and early the next morning thanks to the wayward splash of sunshine that landed on her face.  Ignoring her cat's annoyed muttering, she slipped out of bed and dressed in a plain pair of breeches and shirt.    Silent as a ghost, she slipped out of the door carrying her boots and a couple of apples she'd filched from dinner the night before. 

            As she passed the desk opposite Jon's door, she froze at a soft noise from the other room.  A soft, distinctly feminine noise.  Shaking her head in disgust, she crept out of the room and into the corridor and set off at a brisk pace for the palace stables.

            Stepping inside the thickly hay-scented area, she craned her head to either side to check for any hostlers in the vicinity.  She thought that Gary and Raoul would hear her out; but just in case she'd misjudged them, she didn't want anyone to witness the resulting scene, not even Stephen.  Because if Stephen saw what happened, then he would tell George.  And if George knew, the next time she saw him he would be kind and sympathetic, and after the...incident on Jonathon's birthday, Alanna didn't really want to deal with a kind and sympathetic George.

            Having finally decided that there was, in fact, no one there, the girl walked over to greet Moonlight with a caress and a stolen apple.

            Fifteen minutes later, when Gary and Raoul entered the courtyard before the stable, squires in tow, Moonlight was in the middle of the courtyard brushed, saddled, with a sheepish and apologetic redhead perched atop her back.

            "Um, Hi." She said, sliding off as the foursome stared at her.  "There's a few apples in the barrel by your tack.  I couldn't find any of the cheese that Blackie likes."  Raoul carefully stretched out a hand to close Douglass of Veldine's gaping jaw.

            " Why that was so thoughtful of you Alan," Gary said with a grin.  "But if you're really trying to get our forgiveness, you should have at least brought a few pieces of last night's blueberry pie."

            "Five pieces," interrupted Raoul.   Everyone turned to look at him.  "I'm hungry," he added simply.

            Gary shrugged, then went on, "new quills, eagle feathers of course, maybe a hat or a belt buckle-"

            "Flowers," added Raoul, nodding sagely, "Definitely flowers, and a tin of chocolates, probably a-"

            "Alright already," Alanna conceded, laughing, "I get the picture your Lordships."

            "A new bottle of perfume," oblivious to the whack on his arm from his own squire, "bright blue toe socks."

            "Do you want my apology or not?" the squire called out, doing her best to glare ferociously.  Douglass and Geoffrey exchanged a glance.  Despite his infamous glare, it was hard to be scared of Alan when he was A) a foot and a half shorter than those he was trying to intimidate and B) trying not to fall over with suppressed laughter.  

            "Do we get pie?" asked Raoul.  "Just kidding," he added, noting the exasperation on his friend's face.

            "Well," continued Gary, drawing himself up with as much dignity as he could muster.  "If you haven't brought anything than your only option is to come riding with us through the Royal Forest today.  There's this really fantastic web overhanging the entrance to Goosecatcher trail, I know that you'd love to see it."

            Alanna rolled her eyes through her relief.  Ever since Gary had found out about her fear of spiders, he'd taken every chance that he'd gotten to tease her about it.  "Really? That sounds absolutely smashing1" she smiled up at his smirk before swinging herself back into the saddle.  "We ready to go then?"

            At her challenge, both Gary and Raoul leapt onto the mounts their squires had readied for them and the three friends thundered away in a race for the gate.

~*~*~

            Several hours later, Alanna strode out of the stables, exhilarated after the ride and still slightly annoyed at Raoul for trying to shove a handful of spiders down the back of her tunic.  She'd given all of them a very stuffy and pompous lecture on respecting personal space that had the other four in gales of laughter.  Behind the laughter she hoped they all took her words to heart, or at the very least remembered them.  She couldn't afford to let any more people find out her secret.

            She nearly ran across her own hallway, intent on rushing into her room for a change of clothes before dashing down to the city.  That way, she wouldn't get back until the darkest hour of the night, and the less time she spent in the rooms, the less chance of having another confrontation with Jonathon.

            Outside of the door, she paused, wondering where Faithful was.  She hadn't seen him since; she stopped to think, looking backwards over her day, just before lunch.  That was definitely out of the ordinary.  Faithful never missed a meal if he could help it.

            So, just before lunch was deportment which Faithful, finding it incredibly boring, usually skipped.  _ He must have run off to Myles or someone and lost track of time._ Shrugging she tugged on the door handle, already moving to step inside.

            Nothing happened.  She tried again, harder.  Nothing.  "Damnit!" I thought that the servants would have fixed the stupid thing by now.  Over the last two weeks, the outer door had warped slightly from the cold, developing first a hitch, then a reluctance, and eventually a stubborn refusal to open the door.

            Alanna deliberately cracked her knuckles and shook herself out.  She _was_ going to open the door by Mithros.  Bracing one foot on the stone wall, she firmly gripped the handle and leaned back in preparation for one great heave.

            Only to land on her rump a few feet away at the sudden opening of the door from the inside.

            "Oh dear," came a voice from above her in smooth cultured tones.  "However did you get down there?'

            Alanna slowly lifted herself from the floor, arranging her features as pleasantly as she could over the grimace caused by her bruised hindparts.  "I believe that your strength, your grace, must be far greater than you have, so modestly, claimed."

            "Really?' replied Duke Roger, looking quite flattered.  "Well, I have entered the practice bout here and there."

            "It shows your grace," Alanna answered as standing stretched her abused muscles.  "Believe me it shows."

            "Who are you talking to Roger?" floated Jonathon's voice from within the room.  

            "Just your squire, cousin.  And I bid you goodnight that you have found my advice..." here the Duke paused, seemingly searching for the right word as his gaze flickered from Alanna to his wrist to back to Jon's presumed position inside the room,  "instructive."  Then, with a bow towards the room and an abbreviated nod in Alanna's general direction, the Duke of Conte took himself off, leaving Alanna to face her prince, knight-master, and best friend alone.

Dun Dun Dun!

Requesting bad poetry for Jon to write about Delia, any submissions are appreciated!

I _will_ try to update again soon!

Heiress


	7. Stephen has Messenger Birds

Alrighty, in this Chapter, Alanna makes up with Jon over their little spat, and goes down to the city to visit George.  Still asking (not begging) for plot and/or character suggestions beyond "A/J forever!"

**Thanks to~**

**Tenken no Miko- Thank you so such for the poem that will be used next chapter.  A few things were altered but it could never have been done without you.**

**Cytosine- My, we have turned into a babbler haven't we?  Still unsure about romantic content, I now slap people instead of kick shins, and I have something incredibly exciting and important to tell you but I'm not allowed to.**

**Queen's Own-Wind to thy wings too!**

**Bloodless- keep your heart, without it you can't live and write me more reviews!**

**To all others; Thank you thank you thank you thank you.  Any suggestions on anything you want to see beyond a vague concept would be helpful!**

**Chapter the Seventh**

**            Taking a deep breath, Alanna stepped inside the room and closed the now-compliant door behind her.  Jon's back was to her as he reviewed and remarked on the plethora of papers spread across his mahogany desk.  Now was the pivotal moment, the time that she would have to make the most crucial choice in this, their first big fight.  She had the easy option of walking right back through the door,  (Providing, of course, that it would open) and pretending she'd never even come back.  She could ignore him and quietly go into her own room, leaving before he woke the next morning.  Or, she could take the hero's choice, the choice of the foolishly brave.  She could attract the prince's attention upon herself, risking his temper to try and restore their fr-"**

**            "I _do_ know that you're standing there." Jonathon said, not even pausing in his scribbles as he interrupted her redundant and pointless train of thought.  "and unless you intend to put down roots and grow there, I suggest you take a seat so we can talk.**

**            "Besides," he added, putting down his pen and spinning the chair around "you'd not only block the door, you'd ruin the carpet, starting an international incident because _that_ carpet," he cocked a finger at the rug in question, "was a gift from the Tuisane ambassador to show that he took no offense at your beating his champion."**

**            Alanna hesitantly smiled back to his tentative grin.  Joking was good, joking was very good.  Joking meant less yelling and a very much decreased chance of flying projectiles.**

**            She opened her mouth to tell Jon how sorry she was, when she was cut off.**

**            "I just wanted to apologize Alanna.  I don't know what made me react like that."**

**            "Love, or lust," Alanna interrupted.  "It doesn't really matter which.  But you know that I would _never_ use people like that.  Especially not someone you cared about like Delia." _Not to mention I think that she's a power-hungry manipulative whore._**

**"So we're still friends?  Because I swore that night at Persopolis that we would always be friends."**

**"Yes, we're friends." A brief pause followed Jonathon's affirmation. "Do we hug?"**

**Laughing and shaking her head, Alanna stepped forward into her friends open arms for a friendly embrace.  A very long friendly embrace Alanna realized as she lifted her head away from the sound of Jon's heartbeat.**

**"Um, Jonathon, I'm glad we're friends and all, but I'd like to stay friends with my stomach too, and it really wants some food right now."**

**"Oh, sorry."  Jon's hold abruptly slackened and he stepped back a pace.  "I'd join you, but there's another banquet tonight.  A celebration for the new Baron of Mindelan's son's engagement to the one daughter of old Lord Gaylin."**

**"Well, at least you get better food.' She headed towards the door but turned back after.  "You promise that we'll always be friends?"**

**"Ever and always," Jon smiled.**

**"Good, 'cause if you didn't, and I died, I swear that I'd come back as a squirrel and run up your pants on your coronation day."  With these words she smiled sweetly and then slipped out the door.**

**~*~*~**

Alanna jogged down the last part of the hill, stubbornly refusing to look at the grove of trees where Palace Way changed to Temple Way.  As far as she was concerned, all that had happened that night was a letter from Thom, collecting the presents for Jonathon's birthday, and nothing else.  Even so, she took a few deep breaths and flared at her suddenly wobbly knees as she neared the familiarly-shabby door of the Dancing Dove.  Hearing the noise from within, she didn't bother to knock, and just cracked to door open against the crush of noise and people, and slipped inside.

**To be greeted by a cold, if not exceptionally sharp, blade at her windpipe.  "What's one of _your_ kind doing down here at night _boy_," whispered a hoarse voice near her ear.  "Come to laugh at the common people and their fun?"  His breath (she was fairly sure it was a him) was slightly sour with beer, and the raspiness seemed mostly artificial, a cover for the youth Alanna suspected.**

**_ I really should have changed_ she thought ruefully_ a silk shirt and riding leathers in the prince's colors does stand out a bit around here._  Even as she thought, she leaned into the boy's arm, away from the knife, knocking him off balance.  As he stumbled, she hooked her foot around his and yanked, knocking him flat to the floor.  Before he could move, she let herself fall after him, right knee falling roughly into his chest, the other on his wrist as her hand grabbed the fallen knife to hold its point against his throat.**

**Or at least that was what she had intended.  Even as she landed on top of him, his hips twisted and his legs swung up and around with near-unnatural flexibility, knocking her to the side, his legs pinning her down at the waist.**

**_Well two can play that game._ She half sat up, right fist flying to his jaw as her other hand grappled for the knife.  His legs slid sideways as his head snapped back and Alanna rushed to a standing position just in time to meet a solid kick to her abdomen.  Her hand gripped his fist tighter, the blade cutting the webbing between thumb and forefinger as she fought gravity's hold. **

**"Now what is this?"  George's light voice cut through to Alanna's senses.  Glancing up, she saw that the other patrons of the Dove had drawn back, watching her and the strange man-boy fight with lively curiosity.  "One of my subjects fighting with one of my friends?"**

**"Sire!" the boy burst out with an appalled glance at Alanna, "you cannot be-"**

**"Silence, Dago," George called over him, the "regal" authority evident in his voice.  "and stable mucking duty for the week for not being able to hold a hostage in the first place."**

**The boy's jaw shut with an audible snap, and with one last glare at Alanna, he turned sideways and shoved his way through the crowd in the direction that Alanna knew contained the stables.  As the crowd around them dispersed without entertainment, she followed George up the ladder to his private rooms.**

**"He was certainly," she paused, "enthused."**

**George let out a bark of laughter.  "That one? Well I guess that's one way to put it.  I'd go with 'chip-on-his-shoulder-the-size-of-a-horse' myself."  He paused for a moment to unlock and open his door before waving her in before him.**

**Glancing around the room, Alanna's lips quirked.  Brilliantly scarlet throw pillows ornamented one of the couches and a painting of a group of ridiculously clad women in a field of flowers that Alanna thought she recognized from one of the Lord Provost's reports adorned the wall behind it.  Opening her mouth, she turned to George.**

**"Yeh don't want to know." He said with a grin to her unspoken question as he swiped a roll of gauze off a side table.**

**"What makes you think you knew what I was going to say?" she challenged, more amused that affronted, and slightly curious about what exactly his Sight showed him.**

**"I don't need the Sight to know that, lass."  At her open-mouthed surprise, he laughed and waved her into a seat on the couch before sitting next to her and preceding to wrap up her bleeding hand.  "Or that.  You came in, you stared at my pretty, new things, that turned around with that silly 'noble and honorable' look of yours."  Her mouth worked as she tried to decide between being amused and offended.  "Besides," he continued, grinning at her dilemma, "you always ask that."**

**Laughing, she chucked one of the crimson pillows at his head, surreptiously scooting a bit farther down the couch.  "Oh, you must know me _so_ well then.  What am I going to say next?"  She waited, watching an expression she stubbornly refused to identify flit across his face.**

**He grabbed her hand back, and frowned, brows pulling together as he stroked his chin in a mockery of profound thought.  "I think that you are...going to tell me about... the ride with Gary and Raoul."**

**Her jaw sagged.  "That is one hell of a network," Alanna muttered.  "Remind me never to think I can hide from you."**

**"And then," he continued, ignoring her mumbling.  "You were going to tell me about how you and Jon finally made up from that little spat."  Another expression flickered across his features, one Alanna was to distracted to analyze.**

**"How in Mithros' name do you know that? That was barely an hour ago and I came straight here! How the bleeding he-" She stopped, staring at his laughing eyes as understanding dawned in her own.  "Stephen has messenger birds." She chorused along with him.**

**After their chuckles had died down, Alanna sat straighter, again moving a bit to the side, as it seemed the distance between them had shrunk.  She jerked as the bandaging now wound around her hand hit a sensitive, ticklish spot.  He glanced up at her through lowered lids.**

**"Sorry, I'm almost done."  And a minute later, "there, better?"**

**She gently disengaged her hand, turning it around in front of her.  "Good as new.  Or at least it will be in a few days.  Now, I don't suppose your knowledge of other countries is as complete of that of the palace?" she hinted delicately.**

**Sobering, he leaned his head back.  "No lass, I'm sorry but that'll take two weeks more at the very least.  But my people'll keep lookin', I promise."**

**"Damn it!  I just know they're up to something.  The dreams..."  her voice trailed off, face a mask of uncertainty and guilt.**

**"Dreams?" his head hadn't moved, but one eye was open and staring at her.  "What kind of dreams are we talkin'?"**

**She started, glancing around the room like a frightened deer.  "I don't want to talk about it."  Seeing him open his mouth again she cut him off with a wave of her hand.  "I don't think I _can_ talk about it."**

**George closed his mouth and nodded, remembering what his mother had told him three years ago, after he had Alanna to her in her moments of panic.  Continued nodding as he thought about the similar burden that lay in his own chest.**

**"Alright then lass," he said, cutting his eyes sideways to her.  "Are there any other dreams you'd like to tell me about?  Any in which I might feature a leading role?"**

**"There might have been a cameo," she answered, the stuck out her tongue at his raised eyebrows.  "What's the story on that guy who attacked me downstairs.  Dago, I think."**

**George let out an exasperated sigh of amusement and exasperation and Alanna wasn't sure which was for her and which for Dago.**

**"Dago stumbled into the city about three weeks ago and decided to try his hand at being a bullyboy."  A snort from Alanna interrupted the story but was quickly shushed.  "Well, obviously I can't have that, it would lead to anarchy in the streets!  So I sent a few of my own boys down to... take care of him." He sent a quick glance to Alanna's face but saw no overt reaction.  "That should have taken care of it but a few hours later there were Malek, Smokar, and that slip of a boy at my door.  He'd not only convinced them not to kill him, but to take him to me as well!"  Best damn smooth-talker I've ever seen, and my new protégé.  He's a half-decent fighter too, though he seems more comfortable with a sword than knives."**

**"But you know nothing of him, or where he came from?" Alanna queried.  "Only nobles and guardsmen are taught to use a sword."**

**"He's got the accent of the lakelands to the east, and from the opinion he seems to have of nobles, it would be damned odd if he was one."**

**"True, do you know what set him that way?  Assuming that this evening's excitement wasn't something against me personal."**

**"So far, one of the many things he won't talk about.  But we'll be working on him.  Why?"**

**She shook her head slightly.  "I don't know, something just doesn't feel right."**

**"Well, if you find out, tell me.  In the meantime," he stood, reaching out a hand to pull her to her feet.  "You need to get back to the palace and sleep lest you're so tired tomorrow you think the riding master is your horse again."**

**"How did you..." She asked, trying to turn around as she was propelled to the door.**

**"Stephen has messenger birds.**

**            And that is it for today folks!  Next chapter was supposed to be the title focused but because of a hand that won't listen to me and a chapter that was looking to be twenty pages long before completion, the next one will  have the famous poem of Jon's.**


	8. Blood Drain from it Like a Sieve

**This chapter was meant to have the title action but alas, for I kept writing and writing and before it was even halfway done it was longer than any of the chapters so far.  I could have left it really really long but this way I can update faster.  **

**So instead, this chapter has two sections of our mysterious first person narrative, and I would like to point out that those sections take place at the same time as the last chapter, while everything else happens two weeks later.  Out of sheer perversity, I still refuse to say this characters name in script.  It will however be spoken at the very end of the next chapter though with all the hints I give I will be amazed and ashamed if you cannot guess who it is if you have even read ITHotG once.**

**Chapter the Eighth**

**"Where did he go?"**

**The cry, not mine, tore out of my own throat, cutting off breath as it forced its way up from the shadowed depths of my stolen soul. _Damn it all!_   Or maybe bless it, I wasn't sure which at the moment.  On the one hand, I knew that the reactions to my failure would be harsh and tortuous.  On the other hand, if _he_ wanted this done, the world would be better off with my failure.  **

**A sharp pain lancing through my body shocked me out of my reverie.  A gentle reminder from my distant master to stay on task.  Another, stronger jolt nearly knocked me to my knees, and I decided that the long-term consequences scared me less.**

**_How could one fire-tempered boy cause so much trouble?_****  The streets were silent, all life and color of the marketplace having fled with the last feeble shimmer of sunlight hours before.  All except a stray, tattered banner in the royal Conte blue, dragged across the filthy street in an errant breeze.**

**Bruise-colored shadows shrouded every abandoned stall, far too many to search for a small, Gifted squire.  _But why would he hide_ I thought suddenly, _ I've been careful, he should have no idea anyone's following him._  With renewed feelings of both hope and despair, I jogged farther into the depths of the city.**

**~*~*~**

            The cacophony that was the essence of the Lower City wound around me, nearly corporeal in its strength and volume.  I knew just what it would look like too.  Rough as ram's wool, rough as their work-hardened skin.  Color same as the common dirt they lived in.  They disgusted me.  

            It was one of the few things that the Duke and I agreed upon.  But short of a plague coming through to spirit them all away, they were a thing to be suffered.  Besides, who would clean up all of the bodies?

            I slipped behind a faded scarlet pillar as a door opened, spreading a brilliant puddle of light across the ground.  I concentrated on their faint conversation, distracting myself from the fetid pong that surrounded me.

            "Now lass," the first voice said.  A ,am

s voice, older than me, but not my much.  "You shouldn't stay away so long, I near pined away to nothingness waitin' for you."

            A peasant lovers' good-bye, and one that had nothing to do with my elusive noble quarry.  I snorted, missing the girl's mumbled reply.  Whatever it was, it made the man laugh.

            "Ouch, milady.  You've wounded me.  My heart is bleeding, calling out as I die but four you to fulfill my unrequited love." There was a different laugh and then a muffled "oomph."  Presumably as the girl pushed her Player of a lover into a wall, and then light quick footsteps hurried towards me.  I quickly scooted around the column.  Not that I thought it mattered if some common maid saw me, but there was no such thing as too cautious, and many things that accounted as unnecessary risks.  

            So I concentrated on the girl's pitter-patter steps, moving around the column in accordance.  It was like the carefully rehearsed and choreographed steps of a madman, all centering around the column at my back, with me spinning slowly and close, and her leaping widely around.

            And then my shoulder hit a warm barrier of flesh, and I remembered that this had not been a pas de deux but a pas de trois.

            "Enjoy the show, lad?"  My back was to the light from the open door, concealing my face but giving a fully view of his.  Hair above a long forehead a light brown, green-hazel eyes, a distinctive nose to large for his face.  A commoner.  I'd be able to recognize that face again though, just in case.  But as I continued looking, I noticed a sword belted to his hip.  And the readiness of his stance and angle of his wrist said that, despite the law, he knew how to use it.  "And I thought we'd got rid of you blokes."

            Confused, I stuttered out, "I have no idea what you're talking about," 

inwardly wincing at the idiocy of the statement.

            "Don't be messin' with me, boy," he warned, his face still genial.  "I've got the Sight, so I know you've been standing there the whole time."

            I pulled the best of my nobly born arrogance around me and took a step away from the pillar, turning at the same time, to keep him in my sights.  As the light hit my face, his eyes widened.  "You're the shadower?" he exclaimed, eyes going dark with fury.  Before I finished blinking from the new light and his bewildering words.  I felt myself fly back into the pillar, jaw numb from the sudden punch.  Shaking myself out, I scrabbled at my belt, noting that with a flick of each hand, his own knives were out.  

_Wrist sheathes_ the though impinged on my brain_ I have got to get me some of those._   Even as he closed, I found the pouch I was looking for, his left knife scoring my cheek.  I pulled my knee up to his groin, throwing the fistful of powder at his face simultaneously.    As it connected, I closed my eyes against the flash of orange light and opened them to see him on his back, eyes blank and staring.

            Satisfied, I wiped the excess dust off my hands.  I glanced up at the sign of the inn, trying to get my bearings.  "The Dancing Dove."  _Eastern side of the city_, I thought to myself.  I could head west and hit the main road.  Turning on my heel, I left the man's motionless body behind.

~*~*~

The next two weeks passed easily for Alanna.  Comparatively easy, that is.  Between being battered and bruised in the mornings, and still getting up for more, trying not to nod off in the academic classes of the afternoon, squinting over papers late into the night, and extra practice fit in around the extra work details she still accrued.  

But nothing out of the ordinary happened; no more fights with Jonathon (at least not beyond who got the last roll at dinner with their friends.)  and at the three social functions that the was forcibly dragged to, she had dodged away and hid whenever she caught at glimpse of the emerald-clad figure of Delia of Eldorne.  

She hadn't seen George since the day she and Jonathon had made up0.  They had arranged to meet the following Thursday at the Dove, but Alanna had been so busy with the extra work assigned in Ethics class that she hadn't been able to make it.  Or at least that's what she told herself.

In truth, the homework really shouldn't have taken as long as it did.  If she had hurried, she could have dashed down to the Dove only a little late.  But she hadn't, and didn't want to analyze why.

Still, it had been a fairly easy time, and she lazily reclined on the couch during the first completely free afternoon that she'd had in a while.

And then Jonathon burst in, a bounciness to his step, excitement making the words he caroled out unintelligible even as his hands shook with an uncharacteristic nervousness.  He opened his mouth, closed it, opened again, and shut, as his violent trembling nearly ripped the paper cradled in his hands apart.

"Jonathon what's wrong?"  Alanna asked, worried about her friend's strange behavior.

He started having forgotten that she was there in his nervousness.  "You're a girl. Aren't you Alanna?" he burst out suddenly.

She blinked.  _Not what I was expecting._  Instead of answering the question, Alanna merely raised her eyebrows and waited.  And continued waiting as Jonathon muttered to himself, papers still trembling with the rigid tenseness of his grip.  Twice he opened his mouth to speak, the second time a single quivering syllable escaped his lips before he returned to deliberating.

"For Mithros's sake, Jonathon!  Spit it out!" she called impatiently.

He jumped to attention.  "Poetry."  The word him unexpectedly, and they both looked to where it hung in the air between them: Jon with surprise and relief, Alanna with a sudden sense of dismay.

"Poetry, she repeated dumbly, praying to the Goddess that she had heard incorrectly, that he'd mumbled "Party" or "Pantry" or even "Potty" but knowing such hopes were useless.

"Yes, Poetry," he repeated, standing up straighter in a peculiar combination of pride and bashfulness.  "For Delia, she's always on my mind, sleeping or waking.  And I thought, if I could just _tell_ her..." the fanatic light that had come into his eyes at the mention of his lover dimmed a bit, now the faint orange of slumbering embers.   

"But I couldn't, so I tried to find another way, and this morning I sat down at the desk and..."  His voice trailed off with pride as he held the somewhat-crumpled paper out to his squire.  "And I didn't want to have her thing that it was rubbish and I needed someone to read it first, and I thought..."  He didn't even have to tell Alanna what he "thought."  She could read it in the hopeful expression on his face and the pitiful entreaty in his voice.  

"Fine," she grumbled, wishing that once, just once, she didn't feel compelled to be such a good friend.  

My lady Delia,

Your beauty astounds me, amazes me, and is ever so rare

Not even the beauty of a cow heavy with child can compare.

Your gait is so graceful,

Though dancing with you painful

Your emerald eyes are divine

Though they cannot compare with mine

Your mouth is red like a rose

Much better than your toucan nose

Have I ever said

How good you are in bed?

Should you ever leave me

I would be bereaved

I'd rip apart my heart

And watch blood drain from it like a sieve.  

Finishing, she put it down slowly and carefully, arranging it needlessly on the desk, working to line the paper up perfectly with the corned as she tried to think of something to say.  

"Well?" demanded Jonathon as he ceased his anxious pacing round the Tuisainian rug.

_You'd think he was waiting for his first child to be born_ thought Alanna, then covertly tapped the wooden desk behind her against the thought and its likeliest circumstance.  "It was... It was... Wow."  His face slid from hope to despair.  "It was a very vivid description, there at the end,...with the sieve and everything."

His face crumpled.  "You don't like it!" he murmured.  "I'm a horrible poet, a bad person, I should've known that I..." his voice trailed off into near silence as he mumbled recriminations to himself.

Alanna hurried over to comfort her dejected knight master, tripping over a stray pillow as blue as the prince's eyes.  "Damnit!" she cried as her knee hit the low table as she fell.  Jonathon's sobs kicked up a notch in intensity.

"No not _you!_" she assured, desperately trying to ignore the tears slithering down the prince's pale face.  "It's not that you're a bad person, or that it's a horrible poem."  She crossed her fingers on the hand not patting Jon's back.  "It's only that," she paused, searching for something to say.  "Maybe you should find another way to tell Delia about your feelings." 

This suggestion was greeted with another wail.  "b-but I can't!  Delia said last Saturday at five thirty-nine that the truest and only way for a man to express his feelings is through poetry!"

"She did, did she?"  Alanna lost her train of thought for a moment as she plotted what to do to the Eldorne girl for reducing her heroic friend to this damp wretch.  She'd have a hard time attracting suitors if she had only cauterized stumps for ears.  "Well if she truly means it, then she'll certainly be able to tell your feelings from this then, won't she?"

"Really?"

"Really truly." She answered, swearing to hurt the "lady" if she hurt Jonathon.  "But I've got to run now, I was supposed to meet Myles for lessons on the Third dynasty of Galla fifteen minutes ago."  With that, she patted her now-happy friend on the head and fairly ran out the door.

Congratulations to me! Lucky you! Two chapters up in less than a week!  It's a miracle!  Now that I have acknowledged this event, I cannot tell you if it will ever happen again.  There has been a lot of bookless free time recently and I have typed this as a way to stall on my demi-essay writing.  I've got to compare Napoleon's and Hitler's conquests of Great Britain and Russia, and then tell how these three conferences whose names I don't remember affected the Post-WWII world.  Joyfulness.  But again, Lucky you!

Next chapter has the title action and is all from the point-of-view of our "mystery person."  If you can't tell who he is before the end of the chapter, you should be hunted down and beaten with a rubber ducky.

Thanks again to Tenken no Miko for the poem


	9. Best Warrior

Title and my name are at the top; over all summary and disclaimer are on the first five chapters. These will hold for the rest of the story. The title action will finally occur in this chapter, all from the point of view of our "mystery person." Again, shame on you if you can't figure out who it is. I have only vague ideas about where to go next, so any suggestions will be welcome.

I would like to apologize for my extraordinary lateness in getting up another chapter. I do have reasons, but I am ashamed. I was grounded, I had AP tests to work for, I had finals, the computer got a virus, we moved to the middle of Dorothy and Toto land, we couldn't get internet to work on the computer, and then I went on vacation. That is the reason(s) that I have not updated in roughly six months. Again I feel horribly guilty and am very sorry. Please don't hurt me.

Also, I don't really dislike Jon or anything, and I don't think that he is that much of a whining baby; it is the effects of the spell Roger and Delia have placed on him.

Chapter the Ninth

"No, Hoffryn! That's too much to the left." I yelled. "The blade can be any-which-way that you want, but keep the tip pointed at Clason's chest. It won't do you any good to charge at him if your point's already going past his shoulder. Contrary to popular belief, he is not as wide as the palace gates."

Hoffryn blushed at the rebuke and realigned his tip while his much larger partner grinned.

"And Clason," the other page glanced up. "Stop dodging the damn blade. He might not have hit you that time, but if he kept on pushing, you would have tripped over your own feet from trying to run away." No longer grinning, the boy solemnly nodded his head.

"Alright then boys," I stood up and raised my arms, "Ready?" They slipped the padded practice helmets, stained yellow from years of sweat and hard use, over their heads and dropped into the en garde position, nodding. "Then fight!" I bellowed, brining my arms forward and together in a thunderous clap.

I sat back down on the upturned barrel of the courtyard that served as my seat and leaned on my elbows as I studied style and weaknesses of the two boys. They had come to my apartments the day before, asking if I could critique them as they practiced this afternoon. After all, everyone knew I was "one of the best knights in the whole palace!" _"One of the best" But I'm not their hero_ my treacherous mind whispered. _I'm just convenient_. A flash of copper from the east entrance caught my eye. _**He** is their hero. Alan of Trebond. Brilliant, Gifted, a very pretty boy. Everyone just adores him._

I cut off that train of thought to refocus on the two sparring boys in front of me. Clason was doing much better but… "Hoffryn! Keep your point on line!" His blade wavered back into position at the same time a shadow fell onto my face.

"Hello Alan." I said calmly to the squire's hovering presence. "Take a seat." I waved at the barrel next to mine."

"Thanks," he said, hoisting himself up onto the seat next to mine. I was amused to note that his feet were left hanging a few inches away from the ground. I may be slight, but at least I don't end up looking like a three year old. "What happened to your cheek?" he asked me once he was settled.

Surprised, my hand rose involuntarily to the recently healed mark on my face, souvenir of trying to follow him into the city two weeks ago. Despite Alan's innocent expression, I couldn't help wondering if there was more to his question. "Just a brawl in the city," I answered casually. "You know how the commoners are."

He grimaced in return, although I couldn't tell if he was agreeing with me or not. "So what are you doing down here Alan?" I asked, deciding that a change of subject might be prudent. "I thought you usually helped Jonathon with his papers about now." I marveled at how normal my voice sounded even as he groaned in dismay.

"I usually do. But I told him that I had promised to go over some old documents with Myles today." I faked a censorious expression at his confession. "You wouldn't blame me if you'd been there, with that disgustingly hopeful expression and that embarrassing attempt at literature that should never be heard unless the listener is almost unconscious with morphine." He burst out with vehemence. "Or dead," He added as an afterthought.

"You seem to feel quite strongly about this." I noted. He stared at me for a moment, and then burst out into near-hysterical laughter.

"I'm sorry," he said a moment later, trying to catch a breath. "But you are the only one that I can talk about this with."

I began to get an idea about what, exactly, "this" was, but had him spell it out anyway. "Talk about what Alan? What can you talk about with me that you can't with Jonathon?"

"Delia," he replied on a gust of breath, but not the lovelorn sigh my lord had hoped for, more like pained exasperation. "She's making everyone crazy. Jonathon's writing the most horrible love poems ever to be seen in this kingdom, and he, Gary, and Raoul nearly eviscerated me a few weeks ago just because she was talking to me. I didn't even want to be there. Everyone seems to go absolutely nuts if her name ever comes up in conversation. Except you." He turned to me, pleading evident in his wide violet eyes. "I just want things to be like they used to be, with the five of us, all together."

"Things change Alan," my voice grated harshly on the words. "People change, and nothing you do can change them back." His surprise was evident at my tone, but that didn't stop my tongue. "Besides, there were six of us, remember?"

His head snapped back as though he'd been slapped with that reminder of shy, blond, Francis of Nond. I knew that Alan held a fair amount of guilt, carefully buried away in his subconscious, for the page. Only one year older than Alan himself, Francis had been one of the first to die of the sweating sickness. Granted, if Alan had managed to save Francis, he probably wouldn't have been able to save Jonathon. But logic doesn't matter to guilt.

"Listen Alan," I started, "I didn't mean…" But what I didn't mean, I wasn't quite sure. Did I mean to bring up our dead friend? No. Did I mean to hurt Alan? Not as black and white. He looked up from his clenched hands with a half-hearted smile.

"It's okay," he half-said half-whispered. "I understand." We sat like that for a few moments. Separated by inches, and a chasm of words, magic, and a woman, that could be too deep to cross.

* * *

But, between old friends, awkward silences don't last forever, but are pushed to the back of the mind, still there, but unimportant alone. A skeleton full of arguments and old quarrels that will hopefully stay in its closet.

"So," Alan asked, gesturing around the practice court, "What is your excuse for coming here?"

I seized the new subject, tender though it was to me, with both hands. "A couple of pages asked me to supervise and give advice." I replied.

He nodded sagely. "Right, a few of them asked me the other day, but I just couldn't seem to find time. "

A bright flare of jealousy lit in my chest. So they'd asked _him_ first. I was just second choice. I pushed the thought down, I was pretty sure that Alan was on the good side, and therefore needed to be alive. After all, _he_ wanted Alan dead, and I was pretty sure that _he_ wasn't working for the good of Tortall.

_Besides,_ added the rational part of my mind,_ Everyone knew that Alan was the best after the duel with that Tuisane barbarian. Of course they would ask the hero first._

_But,_ whispered that traitorous little voice in my mind, the one that got far more use under the duke. _ No one knows which of you is the best, not really. You haven't fought against him since you were both pages, you never actually_ tried_ to find out. _I shoved a metaphorical sock down the voice's non-existent throat.

"It's a hell of a lot of stress isn't it?" I asked him, not really meaning it as a question.

"Hmm?" he queried, distracted by one of Clason's more elegant parries. The boy's shoulders straightened at Alan's nod of approval, just before Hoffryn stabbed him in the gut.

"Being the best," I continued, not looking at him. "Everyone looking up at you, all of the time,…"

He picked up from my pause, "All the pressure to _keep_ being the best, because if you stop, the no one cares anymore."

A bitter laugh escaped me and Alan looked at me, surprised. "Gods, Alan! You're talking about the future! What could happen, what might happen. Look at me! It _has_ happened. I _was_ the best. I beat almost everyone here, and then most of the challenges from Tuisane, and they all said that _I_ was the best. Then _you_ came along." My voice grew softer, and I closed my eyes against any pity he might try and give me. "_You_ the smallest of the squires, beat Dain of Melor, and _you _ were the best, and I was nothing." The sourness of a past grievance was harsh in my mouth. I knew that I shouldn't hate him, but my lord certainly hadn't let any of my rivalry against his enemy die.

"Bull." Alan's calm tenor voice cut into me.

"Wh-what?" My shock must have been amusing in its exaggeration, but to his credit, Alan showed no signs of laughter.

"I said that's bull." His face was small and intent, and with the both of us sitting, he could look me straight in the eye. "Who says that I'm the best? I beat one guy, so what? You and I have never had it off, not really, so no one can know for sure."

I could only stare at him, dumbfounded, at his echo of my earlier thoughts. Moreover, he agreed with them. And it was true, we hadn't sparred since we were both pages. No one could be sure. I opened my mouth to try and find a flaw in this logic, but couldn't.

Alan hopped of his seat to land soundlessly on the ground, turning around to stare at me expectantly. "You coming?" he asked. "It's on my mind too now, and I won't be able to think straight 'til we know.

With renewed energy, and maybe even hope, I leapt off my own seat and the two of us headed for the arched exit.

The two pages called after us. "Alan and I are going to have a match of our own." I called back to them.

They glanced at each other. "Do you need a proctor, sir?" called Hoffryn. It was evident that the boy was more intent on gawking at a match between two of the palace's finest rather than judging. I glanced at Alan, and then back at the pages.

"That's all right boys, we wouldn't want to interrupt your practicing, besides," I remained stoically impassive to their crestfallen expressions and cast a measuring glance back to my new sparring partner. "I don't think Alan and I will need a referee. After all, they're just practice blades."

* * *

I leaned to my left, hands braced on my thigh as I stretched my right side. On the other side of the austere room, Alan Leaned across crossed legs, than moved fluidly up before mimicking my position.. A vertebrae popped, and I straightened up, shaking myself out. I walked to the cabinet on the wall opposite the mirrors, and tested the practiced blades one by one. The third weapon caught my fancy, purple wrappings around the black leather of the handle, frayed, but comfortable.

A small hand reached past me, and I restrained a shiver at the squire's sudden, silent appearance. Without hesitation, he reached for the weapon fifth from the right, wrapped in red and creamy tan.

He turned a quirky grin and a mock salute at me, informing me that my involuntary start had been noted. We took our positions, each two paces back from the grooved line that bisected the room. Then, with a more formal salute, we began.

Before the starting slap had stopped echoing in the bare, stone and wood chamber, I lunged forward, blade spinning over my head before it leapt toward Alan's, the only thing saving my friend, a half-step, half-fall backwards.

The bitterness in my mind began to thaw at this initial failing of Alan's. But with my hope came a glimmering of a presence in the back of my mind, one which I quickly pushed to the backmost of my thoughts.

We began with the ageless circling pattern, widdershins, I noted with a small grin, each checking for the other's weaknesses. Alan's eyes remained focused on my chest, looking for signals of my next move. Let him. Duke Gareth had taught me last year how to suppress those signals. And I'd learned before that Alan's strangely immobile chest never showed anything, it was his shoulders you had to watch.

Deciding that I would rather act than react, I threw in a vicious underhand slash before skittering out of the way of his riposte. While his arm was still extended, I swept in and threw my blade down and back, the tip cutting Alan's hose and leaving a deep scratch across his thigh. _ Not so dull then._ I thought, surprised. The presence in my mind inched forward at the weak scent of blood. I moved to push him back again, but was distracted by Alan calling my name.

"Be careful!" he protested.

I would have answered, but my master's attention had come to our little duel, and his interference was not something I wanted.

Alan moved, back and to the side, forcing me to turn in order to keep him in my sights. Then he rushed forward, blade held straight out in front of him, on a direct line to my chest, before I caught it on my own, hilt to hilt,. Now the advantage was mine, because in cor-a-cor, or body to body, Alan's height, or lack thereof, et him be easily dominated. But he broke away, the flat of his blade swinging in his wake to slap me across the cheek. And that brief moment of my pain was all the Duke needed to take over my body.

Alan's apology, filtered through my ears and the Duke's awareness was ignored. The duke raised our sword, using my skill and his plan, and whispered with my voice. "Guard."

Looking vaguely annoyed, he complied, before being drawn again into cor-a-cor and knocked to the ground. Without waiting for him to move, the Duke swung our sword at the squire's head. I watched its descent, a prisoner in my own skin. At the last second, Alan rolled out of thee way, letting the floor take the hit. All three of us saw the chunk of wood knocked out by the impact.

Again the duke lunged forward, the supposedly elegant movement coming out more like a lurch, due to my horrified interference. Nevertheless, the blow connected my efforts only enough to make it the flat rather than the edge that hit.

Alan, with his Gift and his genius, started to realize that something was off. "I want to stop," he cried out. "Something's wrong."

The duke's mirth was only somewhat suppressed, emerging as a nasty smirk on my own lips. His next move knocked Alan's sword away from his hands. The squire, my friend, looked up at me, violet eyes full of terror and confusion. He leaned back, a futile attempt to escape the descending blade, and something in me snapped. A faint silvery flow surrounding my thoughts, I was imbued with a mental strength far beyond my own, and shoved the Duke out of my brain, into and beyond the little corner he had claimed for his own when I was fifteen.

But I couldn't stop the sword held in my hands. Desperately, I leaned back, so the sword hit his chest rather than his skull. I winced at the impact and following resistance as the not-so-blunted blade hit the collar of Alan's shirt and sliced downward.

Even as the blade fell free and I fell backwards, something in my brain registered that the amount of layers Alan had been wearing was far in excess of what was needed on this clear March day, even with Alan's paranoia of the cold.

I sat up slowly, rubbing my head where it had hit the floor. Glancing at the sword, I saw its tip coated thinly in blood, a few trickles running down the metal length. It wasn't much blood, but it was some. "Blunted my ass." I muttered, before looking for my friend.

"Alan?" I called as I spotted him using both legs and one arm to scoot himself closer to the mirrored wall perpendicular to the door. His other arm was curled protectively around his chest, shoulder hunched inward.

"Don't come near me!" he shouted, his voice high with stress. "Please!"

"Alan, we need to get you to a healer." Although he paused when I said his name, he shook his head vehemently and continued on his painfully slow way.

"I'm fine." Alan, I've got your blood all over my damn sword, don't tell me that's 'fine.'"

"I'll_ be_ fine." He maintained, reaching the wall and leaning sideways against it. "Just give me a few minutes."

"Very int- Dear Mithros!" Sir Myles rushed into the room Alan's strange familiar at his heels.

"NO!" came the squire's strangled yell, but the aging knight had already grasped the boy's shoulder to pull him around.

I froze in place, shocked, while Myles only paused before inspecting the shallow cut that ran from the hollow at the base of …Alan's throat to navel. And in the space between were to things that I had not expected to see. Yet even through my astonishment, I realized that the information explained many quirks about my friend's character that had been mysteries.

"Is he…? How…?" I struggled to find words as Myles raised one grizzled eyebrow at me. "Will Alan be all right?"

The squire himself did not respond, eyes squeezed tightly shut with misery. "That remains to be seen, "the knight replied, bending to lift Alan's slight form in his arms. Despite my initial doubts, the chronically tipsy knight lifted him easily. I stepped forward to help him, arms outstretched.

Sir Myles looked at me wordlessly, a gaze that made me shudder before him. "We were just…" the words trailed off, and no more came to fill their gap.

"I think you've played "Best Warrior" long enough Alex, or didn't you realize that you nearly killed…him."

With that, he carried the bleeding and suddenly female body of a squire out of the training room, leaving behind a bruised, troubled, and crying Alexander of Tirragen, standing in the middle of the doorway.


	10. You Think its Time for a Wardrobe Change

And unfortunately, I still don't have a good explanation for my lack of updating. I have been working on another story, but creative ideas have completely run out of me, so I would love to have suggestions, and not just encouragement, in any reviews that you people would deign to send my way. A big thank you to everyone who did review and a few specific thank yous at the bottom.

Also, I am looking for a beta, because I rarely catch all the mistakes when I proof this, grammatical and typo checks, and a bit of keeping the characters on track. Witty dialogue suggestions also helpful.

So, Chapter ten has finally arrived, we have reached the action I promised and let's hope that this train can keep on going.

Chapter the Tenth

_Gods_ thought the prince to himself, _I must have been sitting here for at least three hours. _He stood up from his desk, knocking the heavy oak chair away from him and stretched as the frenzied knocking continued at his door. "I'm coming!" he shouted. Whoever it was sounded as if the fury of Mithros himself was after them. _Or worse, the fury of the Goddess._

He picked his way across the many crumpled drafts of the proposal on trade with Tuisaine that he had been working on, kicking a few out of the way before opening the door. And then he saw the bloody and limp body of his squire carried in the arms of a very distressed Sir Myles.

"Dear Mithros Man! Get inside!" Jonathon whispered harshly. Despite the older man's obvious efforts to disguise both the person he was carrying and what was so obviously wrong, it was painfully easy to identify Squire Alan, with a few added surprises peaking through the ripped and bloody shirt.

"I didn't know where else to go," the harried Myles said, following the prince as he swiped papers and pillows off the couch in the main room and laying the unresponsive girl down on the dark cushions. "Obviously, I couldn't take her to he palace healers."

"Obviously," Jon muttered in response, checking his squire's pulse unsuprised but still relieved when he felt the faint beating.

"And I thought that she had told you."

"Yes," Jonathon answered, wondering how Myles himself knew but too distracted to find out. "She told me two years ago, or explained at least."

"Can you heal her?" Myles asked the prince as the young man stripped off his tunic and pushed up his sleeves.

Jon didn't answer and instead carefully pulled apart the remains of his squire's shirt, sticky with half dried blood, and pushed it to either side. Now was not the time for modesty.

He frowned at the wound; it ran from the hollow at the base of Alanna's throat to just above her naval, still seeping blood. He let his hand hover just above the cut at her throat before sliding it in the air over the entirety of the slice. In the bare inch between his hand and her chest, a misty blue light shone, like the reverse of a shadow.

He pulled back after a minute, shaking his head.

"What is it?" Myles queried anxiously after having watched in worried silence. "What's wrong?"

"I think that I can stop the bleeding," answered Jonathon slowly. "Something isn't right. Her body is resisting the Healing, and I'm not that strong of a Healer to begin with. It's like a mage's defense mechanism, keeping foreign magic out of her body, only she's not here to turn it off."

"So wake her up."

"That's not what's wrong. I could heal her if she was asleep." At Myles's raised eyebrows, he elaborated. "She won't wake up, won't respond at all. The Healers call it a half-death." He didn't look up to see Myles's face grow even more worried. "I'm pretty sure that she's still in there, but wherever it is, she's buried deep, much to far for me to reach her.

"Then what in the seven hells are we supposed to do? Leave her like this?" the older man shouted before lowering his voice. "Is there anything more we can do?"

"It would have to be someone very good at healing, but someone that she trusts implicitly. The only think that I can think of is a healer in the city that she goes to sometimes. George introduced her." Myles's eyebrows raised a little more at Jon's statement. A trusted healer that Alanna knew through the Rogue? Now that would be interesting.

"We'll go just as soon as I change clothes," Jon finished.

"Change clothes? Your friend and squire, whom you have been charged to guide and protect, is catatonic, and you think that a change of wardrobe is in order?"

"Think for a minute Myles!" Jonathon said, grabbing the other man's collar to hold him still. "I know that this is an awful situation but think, Alanna is stable, she's not bleeding anymore, and nothing else is going to change soon. I think that the risk of waiting a few more minutes for both of us to change is less than the risk of half the city seeing the Heir to the Throne rampaging through the streets carrying a wounded and bare-breasted woman who looks suspiciously like Squire Alan, but with a few extra parts!"

Myles hesitated a few seconds, than nodded.

"Good, Let me change and then I'll grab a new shirt and a cloak for here. If I hold her right, no one will know." And without waiting for a response, the prince turned on his heel and did exactly as he said.

* * *

The young guard wasn't especially attentive to his post, the graveyard shift on an out-of-the-way entrance to the palace grounds. He knew that nothing more exciting that crickets chirping would happen tonight, as did the sergeant who had assigned him. A sergeant that didn't take well to being told he had morning breath.

He was more involved in a daydream of glory and girls then watch duty when the boring night became suddenly much less boring. Tow horse-shapes burst out of the fog, a storm grey in the lead, followed by one black as midnight with a horribly misshapen rider. Or so Micah thought, until he realized the tall ridcer was cradling a body in his arms, an eerily motionless body. The young guard, as yet untried in battle, shuddered before seeing the cloak-wrapped figure breathe. All three of the people wore deep hoods, overshadowing their faces.

"Boy! Open the door!" shouted the firs, the one on the gray. He flicked a gold coin at the young man on the ground, it glistened in the mud, a gold eye on an enormous beast. Numbly, Micah bent down to pick it up. He didn't know what to do, he hadn't been told…

"For Mithros's sake, boy!" cried the man on the gray steed again. "Open the damn door!"

Straightening, he did as the man bade, heaving the great bar to the side, and using all his weight to pull the lever down. But it wasn't because of the rider's words or his money. As Micah had bent down to pick up the coin, whether to accept it or throw it back, he didn't know, he had seen another gold glitter, this one on the black rider's hand. A gold glitter in the shape of the royal Conté seal.

As soon as the door was opened enough to squeeze the horses through, the riders were pushing their way through the door. The second, silent rider bent his head over the unmoving bundle in his arms, shielding the identity of that person from the young guard, but Micah saw a glimpse of pale skin and midnight black hair as he passed through the gate, but only watched wordlessly as the cantered away into the foggy streets of the city.

He definitely had something to report.

* * *

Jonathon and Myles exploded into the courtyard of the Dancing Dove, leaping off their mounts before they even stopped, and throwing their reins to the bewildered stableboy. They entered the common room of the inn with only slightly less urgency, Myles throwing open the doors and Jonathon, now dressed in his "Johnny" clothes following with Alanna cradled in his arms, covered with a loose shirt under the cloak.

The reaction to their entrance rippled out across the floor, causing people to fall silent until it reached George, sprawled across his thrown with his feet crossed on the table in front of him.

"What's all the fuss about?" he cried, tilting his chair further back to see around the people. The easy smile on his face fell straight to the floor, throwing him to his feet as soon as he saw Alanna's limp body. "What happened?" He shouted, shouldering his way across the people of his court.

"We can tell you on the way," responded Jon, nodding his head at the listening crowd standing around them. "First we need to get her to that woman-healer you introduced her to, she needs to be with somebody she trusts."

George nodded wordlessly as what little information his Sight gave him about Alanna fed him great red warning lights. He raised his hand, catching the cloak the that the toothless old bartender threw him before leading the two other men and the motionless young woman out the entrance to the summer. Pausing at the door, he turned back to the throne room of his court.

"Carry on the revelry, my people, the drinks are on me tonight!" before dodging out the door, vaulting into the saddle, and heading out into the foggy maze of the city streets, praying that Alanna could be helped.

George strode into the house with as much haste as Jonathon and Myles had entered the Dancing Dove, glancing around the kitchen for the healer in question before calling up the stairs as the other two entered the kitchen.

"Mother!" he bellowed at the top of his voice. "There's been an emergency!"

"It's always an emergency with you," said Eleni Cooper called from another part of the house, "and you never manage to visit me when it isn't one of your emergencies." She emerged at the stairs, a robe tied around her waist, a book in her hand. "I almost think that you don't love me."

George shook his head, he didn't have time for banter right now. "It's Alanna, mother, she's hurt, but she won't wake up, some sort of half-death Jonathon says."

Eleni's face lost the easy mocking cast, taking in her son's uncharacteristic seriousness, the unconscious young woman she'd grown quite fond of, and the fact that the Crown Prince of Tortall and a high ranking courtier were in her kitchen in one wise, all-seeing glance. "I'll get my herbs, George, take the girl to my workroom, you," here she pointed at Myles, "get some water boiling, and you" now she pointed at the Prince, still standing with Alanna in his arms, "you come with me, I need a young back to do some of the lifting."

Jonathon paused a moment , then nodded, passing Alanna into George's waiting arms. "You didn't say that she was your mother," he whispered to the Rogue.

George's furrowed expression lightened a bit. "You didn't ask."

Thanks to:

CTHKSI- yeah, I've always liked Alex too, and I couldn't understand why he sided with Duke Roger, this is me trying to figure out why.

Dalamar Nightson- thanks, I just wanted a plausible reason for his actions

Chicken puffs and Moonlit Wanderer- wow, people are swearing at me and I'm happy about it. Thanks, I'll try not to make it confusing, and suggestions on how this should change her story are welcome.

Queen's Own- thank you so much for supporting me through this, It's been over a year since I started but you've reviewed almost every single chapter, sorry it took so long to update.

Kat-tak- thanks for the poem, I don't know if there's any more poetry in this story or not, but I am very flattered that you wrote it for this humble tale.

Toodles,

Heiress


	11. Twentyfour Hours

Now, a couple people volunteered to Beta, but left now contact information, unless I'm a total idiot and the contact information was in the hyperlink name and I think that I will check that out before this is posted. Anyway, if they are still interested, please leave email. Also, any plot suggestions will be welcome although I will get to pairings if and when I feel like it. From this point on I am playing this thing entirely by ear.

Chapter the Eleventh

He opened the heavy wooden door as quietly and unobtrusively as he could, hoping that the lord of the chambers would be busy, far too busy to notice him. And of course, he was wrong.

"Welcome _Sir_ Alex," called a man from the next room. "Do come in here."

Wincing, he closed the door with far less care than he had opened it with, letting the clamor of wood on wood cover the not-noise of his whispered curses. His feet nearly sank through the carpet as he paced his way, silent as a ghost, into the parlor of the suite. Directly opposite the door, in a blue covered couch that emphasized his Conte coloring to perfection, sat the Duke, feet on the table before him and left hand buried in the dark hair of the girl kneeling on the floor. In his raised right hand there emitted an eldritch orange glow.

Delia raised her glossy head to the new arrival, giving him only a sultry look and a predatory smile before laying her head back down upon Duke Roger's knee. Alex knew that that look bode no good for him. Although she didn't work on a large scale like Roger, Delia too enjoyed watching, and participating in, the pain of others. Slowly, the knight raised his eyes to those of the Duke.

"Well, Alex," murmured the Duke, "Someone has been playing their own game on the side, haven't they." The swarthy man's eyes raced around the room beneath half-lowered lids, wondering what to say, to deny that he had known any of Trebond's secrets but at the same time wanting to withhold any information that Roger would want.

"I know that your jealousy of the prince's little squire might be growing, but I'd no idea that it had gotten so out of hand. To challenge him on yourself…" Roger made a soft clicking noise with his tongue while the orange flame in his hand wavered. "It didn't seem terribly unfortunate though, I intended to turn that to the greater plan; slay, or at least injure the dear boy while you fought. But something went wrong," the elder man's eyes glazed over a bit, "something,… It must have been that dratted magic of his, shutting off that…"

This time the Duke's pause seemed more intentional, as though he had just barely caught himself from saying something he shouldn't. And this time, Alex had a fairly good idea what that something might be. The link hadn't reasserted itself then? _Good_ Alex thought viciously to himself. It was the first time since his fifteenth birthday that he hadn't been bound to the man, and if it wasn't there, Roger couldn't keep tabs on him. Finally, finally this might be his chance to get out.

"You need to come to my study tomorrow morning after the third bell. I need to fix some thing with you." With that last statement, Roger's attention clearly went to the girl rubbing her cheek against his knee. If one could call Delia a girl. A wave of his hand told Alex that he was dismissed, and he bowed once before backing out of the door.

_Tomorrow morning_ Alex thought as he shut the heavy oak_ I have until tomorrow morning to make things right._

* * *

Jonathon followed Eleni Cooper out of the storeroom carefully, turning sideways to avoid catching the supplies he carried on the edge of the doorframe. The woman in front of him didn't hesitate as she grabbed towels from a cabinet in the kitchen any more than she had hesitated in ordering her son, the Crown Prince, and Sir Myles of Olau to fetch and carry. Something that should probably have shocked and irritated him but at the moment he was too tired and worried about his friend to care. Or maybe he wouldn't have cared no matter the circumstances.

_And Alanna was complaining that I was growing to be too much like Roger. _He snorted to himself. _My dear Cousin would never have put up with being ordered around by anybody, it's never happened to him in his life! Even the Mithran priests tread carefully around him._ But thinking of Alanna's comments Roger brought back the memory of her laying motionless in his arms on the ride here.

The blood had been cleaned off of her chest and he was enough of a Healer to keep any more from coming out, but the smell had been there. The same harsh copper smell that had nauseated him in the battlefield; that still made him avoid the west gate of the city if he could help it, the gate bracketed by butcher's shops. And now that stench of death hung in a thick miasma around his best friend, trapping her inside her own mind and not letting her out.

"Come on then," a voice broke into his thoughts. Eleni stood at the base of the steps; towels piled in a basket on her arm, the other hand placed impatiently on her hip. "We can't stand here all day, young man." Her gaze softened a bit when his worried eyes met hers.

"Can you help her?" he asked seriously, managing to keep his voice on just this side of pleading.

She took a step down, pausing in her impatience to give him an honest answer. "Help? Now that I know I can do lad. I can fix up that wound she's got, you did a nice makeshift job my boy, but it wouldn't have lasted, and I can keep infection from setting in. I can make sure that she stays comfortable and well nourished. All of which could be done at the palace, but that would require them knowing a bit more than she wants them to know. And an illusion wouldn't cut it, they'd have felt it on her as soon as she was brought in, and stripped it off her to keep it from affecting their work. Of course I can help her. But the question you really want to ask is 'Can I cure her?' isn't it lad?"

Slightly sheepish, but no less serious in his concern, Jonathon nodded. "I can give you time, if you needed it," he added. "I can tell anyone that asks that I needed an errand done out of the city, and that Squire Alan was sent to take care of it. You can take as much time as you need."

"Aye, that'd help. If you sent 'Alan' to Port Caynn, I'm sure that my George could get people to mention seeing him about. But that would buy us a week before you need more than a few commoners mentioning seeing the Prince's squire. That should give me enough time to get her chest far enough through the Healing process to not be damaged by being bound down again. But that's just the physical aspect. I'm not sure if I can bring her out of that fugue.

"She's trapped inside her own mind, lad. And while that's not my specialty in healing, I know that she won't be coming out unless she herself decides to. I might be able to influence her decision a bit, nudge her back. But unless we find out what exactly set her into it, no one can make her come out."

The prince's shoulders fell, and Eleni felt a pang of pity for the boy. She knew her son's devastation on the subject, feeling it the moment that he stepped into the house and screamed her name, but it appeared that her George wasn't alone. Though her son surely picked distinguished company. The young man before her was the bright young hope of the kingdom, adored in court and praised by his teachers. But all she saw in her country's hope was the edge of hopelessness and distant eyes as he prayed to every god that he knew.

* * *

"You don't have to stare at my quite so intently, my fine man. I swear that I shan't do anything to hurt her." George spoke without looking over his shoulder, his eyes intently fixed at the small pointed face in front of him, willing the eyes to open, the mouth to grin.

Sir Myles, to his great credit in the young King's mind, did not seem at all flustered that his observation was noted. He moved around from the fire he'd been tending, waiting for the requested water to boil. "I doubt that you would, or that you would survive trying."

A grin tugged at the corner's of George's mouth though the rest of his body remained still. He only patted Alanna's forehead again with a dampened towel, the only thing that he could think of to comfort her. "Oh aye, I am terribly affrighted of you, milord."

"Wise of you," the older man said. Eyes wider with respect, the youth in front of him tipped his head back at the added pressure at his chin. With a chilling smile, Myles slipped the small winking knife back into the sheath on the side of his arm.

"That's a nifty little trick you have there," George said taking his eyes off of the prone form on the table. "But you shouldn't trust it too far, I might not have gotten out of this room, but I'd have made sure that you didn't either."

"She doesn't make it out of this, at least one person won't live through night," the grizzled knight muttered.

"Who was it?" younger man demanded, questions that had earlier been quelled by fear brought forth to the surface. Myles's hesitation at answering only rousing further interest. "If you don't tell me, I can still have the information by sunrise."

The older man's eyes darted up, smile lines brought into attention by a quirk in his expression. "Although I might not have the confirmation on your identity…George Cooper, I believe Jonathon called you?" A wary nod answered his not-question. "Don't think I don't know you. Though how Alanna and Jonathon came involved with you I have no idea. But if she pulls through this, you have my word that no one will know of your mother's house. Other than that, I should advise you to be careful in your questions."

Seeing the peculiar flick of Myles wrist that George knew would bring out the small winking blade he had no desire to be reacquaint himself with, George nodded his head in respect and acquiescence. He'd have to speak with the palace-watcher's who had only referred to the man as "the court drunk, of no real consequence."

Myles turned his shaggy head to the King of Thieves sitting next to him, "Though if you ever tire of your current profession, I would be delighted to offer you a job." George was shocked into laughter for what felt like the first time in days.

* * *

The young man slid to a stop outside the Healer's wing, barely halting in his momentum before changing directions and darting through the entrance, his dark hair escaping its binding to fly free around his dark, flushed face.

"Alan, Alan of Trebond, is he here?" the youth demanded of the first uniformed healer he saw, a man he recognized as some relation of the queen's father of one of the boys in the newest batch of pages.

"What's that, Tirragan?" the man asked in return, obviously a bit startled by Alex's disheveled appearance. _Well, why don't you sprint the length of the palace twice over, and we'll see how you feel?_

"Alan, the prince's squire," Alex repeated. "Is he here?"

The man looked surprised, and glanced behind him at the few beds visible along the walls. "Not on my watch, and I've been here for the last few hours. If he's been here, someone must have already checked him and sent him on his way, because I've seen neither hide nor hair of him."

_Not likely,_ Alex thought to himself. _If "Alan" made his,…her way in here, I doubt she'd get out that quickly_. Not that she'd want to be in here, considering what exactly he'd revealed. Lost in his own thoughts, he almost missed the Healer's query.

"Oh, I just couldn't find him, that's all. Stopped by the prince' apartments, the practice rooms, the cafeteria. And I thought that I'd heard someone say that he'd been injured. Ergo,…here."

The man didn't look impressed by his story, and even Alex had to admit that it wasn't a good one. Hardly up to par for as good a liar he generally considered himself to be. "Well, if you do see him, let me know." Trying to keep his hands from shaking, he took himself back out of the room, wondering where on earth he could look next.

_Twenty-four hours._

I am not even going to begin apologizing for how late this is because it is far beyond the point where I can apologize. Four years after I first got the idea, almost two years since I started posting, its awful really. I didn't think that I'd ever get to work on this one again. Then lo and behold, something comes and hits me in the head in the middle of a shower (where for some reason, I always get my ideas) and here this is. I had some strange correlation in the third scene of Myles/Giles and it came out decidedly Ripperish. I mean, if the guy is the spymaster, he really can't be that inconsequential to the court as he always seemed. And there's no way eh could have gotten there without working up through the ranks which would come with some wicked cool tricks up his sleeve. I have developed some vague ideas on how to proceed, but first tell me: Does everything seem according to character? If not, what's wrong? Am I losing anything in plot continuity? How do you like threatening Myles? And also, give me a random word and I will work to include it in the next chapter.


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